His Second Grave
by Edith1
Summary: Buffy needs closure. BS, BX friendship


Title: His Second Grave  
  
Author: Edith Campbell  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Summary: Buffy copes with loss post Season 7.  
  
Spoilers: None. Lots. Helps if you've seen the finale. :)  
  
Dedication: This one goes out to my mom. I love you bunches and I appreciate every single   
  
moment you've spent reading my stupid stories (and since it's been over a decade I feel  
  
quite confident in admitting that there were some REALLY stupid ones). You're everything  
  
to me, Mom.   
  
==  
  
For the first month after Spike's death, Buffy is obsessed with providing him with a   
  
proper burial. She spends hours painstakingly picking out an urn; she ruins her best skirt   
  
gathering ashes from the site where he died. She has led a hard life. She knows the price  
  
of sacrifice. She is adament that Spike's won't go unnoticed.  
  
So she practically depletes her meager savings on flipperies that Spike probably wouldn't  
  
like that much anyway. She gets two jobs in order to save up for the perfect tombstone.  
  
She cries herself silly when she realizes that she doesn't even know his last name. There  
  
is so much about him she never bothered to find out; so much about him that she'll never  
  
get a chance to learn.   
  
But she plugs on like the trooper she has always pretended to be. Nobody understands her now.  
  
She has lost the only person ever capable of getting Buffy Summers. The realization is   
  
staggering.  
  
She buys him a plot in his graveyard, in plain sight of his crypt and underneath a large  
  
tree. Its leaves cast enough shade that she will be able to sit there comfortably, but not  
  
enough to rule out any sunlight.  
  
In death, she decides, Spike deserves the sun.  
  
Of course, when her friends found out about her plans they put a stop to all of them. Giles  
  
insists on returning everything. Buffy isn't sure how he does it but he even manages to get her  
  
a refund on the plot. She knows she should hate him but in truth she doesn't have the   
  
energy to. Her relationship with him is as dead as the only man she could ever love with  
  
any true passion and in truth, she is just too tired.   
  
Dawn tries to make her feel better by reminding her that he probably has a grave somewhere in  
  
London already. She spends awhile trying to find out where on the internet, but without that  
  
surname they are still stuck. Dawn mourns for Spike as well but nobody mourns like Buffy.   
  
She is denied a burial for him but she is determined.  
  
Instead, she becomes a walking memorial. She wears his duster; she smokes his cigarettes.  
  
She adopts a feminine version of his swagger and has no problem dropping words like "bloody".  
  
Her hair returns to its unnatural blonde and she paints her finger nails black. She slays  
  
with a passion that is no longer necessary now that she has defeated the First. If they   
  
will not honour Spike she will.  
  
This night, she sits on the porch overlooking her backyard. It has become a ritual for her,  
  
almost as if she expects Spike to come strolling casually through the trees just looking to  
  
piss her off. She knows it won't happen. Knows she is destined to say goodbye.   
  
However, tonight the leaves move. She sits up a little, erecting her slouched posture, and  
  
waits, ever the hunter. Her heart stops. She wants him to emerge, all puffed up cockiness.  
  
Someone does emerge but it is not Spike. It's Xander.  
  
"Hey," he says weakly, and if she didn't feel dead herself she might notice that Xander has lost  
  
everything boyish about him. His eyes are underlined with thick bags and the frown that marrs  
  
his once smiling lips is almost a permanent fixture.  
  
"Hey," she returned, moving her gaze to the tips of her toes. She doesn't really want company  
  
but if she has to have it, she's glad it's Xander. He understands her the most of all now.  
  
He knows what it's like to lose the one you love.  
  
He is carrying a bag which clinks as he walks closer to the porch. He stops a few feet away from  
  
her and sets it on the ground. In his other hand, he is carrying a bouquet of brightly coloured  
  
flowers. He says nothing. He doesn't need to. Buffy rises from her seat and, silently, they move  
  
together towards the cemetary.  
  
They shuffle quietly for ten minutes before Buffy has to ask, "What's in the bag?"  
  
Xander shakes his head, the ghost of an old grin tugging at his mouth. Softly he says, "You'll  
  
see when we get there."  
  
Buffy nods and reaches inside the duster for her cigarettes. Everybody hates that she smokes.  
  
She has heard everything there is to hear about lung cancer; about shortening her life. She does  
  
not care. She has had enough of the world and everything in it. As she lights it, Xander says  
  
nothing.  
  
They stop first at Anya's grave and Buffy experiences a regular pang of jealousy because she has  
  
one. Xander drops to his knees, emptying the vase of its old flowers and sliding the new  
  
ones in. Buffy sits beside him and helps him clean out the grunge from her name with   
  
Kleenex. She doesn't drop her butt near Anya, taking it instead to the bush. When she  
  
returns, Xander looks up and says, "I loved her, you know."  
  
Buffy's eyes flood immediately and all she can do is nod rapidly. Choking on the lump in her  
  
throat, she murmurs, "I know. she knows."  
  
Xander gives her a searching look and he adds meaningfully, "He knows."  
  
They sit there for awhile and then he stands up, shouldering that mystery bag again. Taking  
  
Buffy's hand, he pulls her in the direction of Spike's crypt. Her confusion grows as he sits down  
  
by the side of it, pulling her with him.   
  
She is about to ask him what he is doing, crouching behind Spike's old home, but is silenced  
  
when he pulls from his bag a chisel and a pick. Awareness dawns on her and the love she feels  
  
for Xander at the moment is overwhelming.  
  
"Everybody should have something," he says, and then he begins to work.  
  
She watches him chip away at the crypt's surface for awhile, carefully if not clumsily carving  
  
out William "Spike". He stops at the last name and glances at Buffy. She already knows what   
  
she wants it to say. she doesn't even need to think when she says, "Summers."  
  
In death, she will give him herself. She can't think of another way to prove that her love  
  
for him was real, if belated. Xander stares at her for awhile, understanding flooding his eyes.  
  
He has not said an ill word about Spike since his death. Wordlessly, he begins to write her   
  
own last name next to Spike's.  
  
They have to discuss what else to write for a bit. William "Spike" Summers seems so sparse.  
  
Xander wants to write "He gave it all for love" but that seems too corny for Buffy. In the end,  
  
they choose, "He lived, he loved, and he's always been bad." Xander lets her use the pick  
  
and she carves out a clumsy set of vampire fangs above his name.  
  
Afterwards, she stares at it for awhile. She doesn't have the words to thank Xander but he  
  
seems to get it. In one last gesture, he gets a flower from Anya's grave and allows Buffy to  
  
lay it next to Spike's crypt. She is already planning how to make it pretty (but not too   
  
pretty- she wants scarlet flowers, the colour of blood). What she does with it doesn't matter.  
  
All that matters is that it's there. That she has somewhere to go and that forever, even   
  
when she's gone, there will be a remembrance of Spike.  
  
She smiles for the first time in what feels like forever as she leaves. With Xander  
  
by her side, she heads home and off into the night, the sound of Spike's duster slapping  
  
against her calves echoing off into the darkness in an eternal salute. 


End file.
